


Johnny Walker Wisdom

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunk Lt. Fick isn't something Brad sees every day</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johnny Walker Wisdom

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) because she needs a silver lining. Beta by [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/) and also for the [Get Some: Porn Skirmish Challenge](http://shoshannagold.livejournal.com/303031.html) for the summary quote prompt.
> 
> Originally posted 8-31-09

Brad raises an eyebrow at Gunny and then looks back into the bar. “This is…”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs. “He’s not listening to me though, so I thought maybe you could handle him.”

“You think _I_ can get him to do something _you_ can’t?” Brad gives Mike an incredulous look. “You’re his gunnery sergeant.”

“Yeah, well, you’re something more than that.” Mike claps Brad on the shoulder. “Have fun. Don’t get arrested.”

Brad opens his mouth to say something, but Mike’s already on his way out the door. The bar is crowded, and Nate’s got more than a few admirers. He’s talking to a couple of women, all of them leaning in far too close for Brad’s comfort, not to mention the restraints of their bras. Sighing, he weaves his way through the people and plants himself directly in Nate’s line of sight, assuming Nate’s going to look up from the breasts of the woman in front of Brad any time soon.

…which apparently he isn’t, as Nate keeps talking and the woman keeps breathing in a way that makes her breasts apparently hypnotic to Nate.

“Sir?”

Nate looks up and smiles, the wide, gut-wrenching smile that makes Brad’s stomach twist and his cock harden. “Brad!”

“The one and only, sir.” He nods toward the door. “We’re Oscar Mike.”

“But what about these lovely ladies?”

“Unsurrender them, sir.” Brad glances at the bartender. “What’s his tab?”

Brad settles up at the bar while Nate finishes his drink and says goodbye to his fan club. More than a few of them protest or pout and one of them asks if Brad’s Nate’s boyfriend. Brad stiffens in more ways than one, but Nate blows it off with a simple, “He’s my sergeant.”

Grabbing the back of Nate’s neck firmly but lightly, Brad guides him out of the ring of admirers and toward the door. Nate doesn’t pull away from his touch, and he’s almost docile about leaving, which makes Brad wonder why Mike had such a hard time. “Okay, sir. Let’s get you home.”

“On your bike?”

Brad huffs a quiet laugh. “So you can fall off and end up splattered all over the freeway and leave me to write the after-action report? No, sir. Gunny took my bike home in his truck. We’re taking your car.” He holds out his hands for the keys.

Nate digs them out of his pocket. It pulls his jeans tight across the front of his body. Brad looks away after the first glance and waits for Nate to put the keys in his hand. Nate presses one hand to the back of Brad’s hand and then lays the keys in the palm with the other. “My chauffeur. My hero.”

“Nobody’s hero, sir.” Brad extracts his hand and starts walking. Nate stumbles along behind him, humming under his breath. It sounds like a cross between “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” and some pop bullshit that Ray would recognize. It’s distinctly unnerving, so he stops, turns around and waits for Nate to catch up with him. “Sir? Let’s pretend that we’re on a mission.”

“Is this a game? D’you like to play games?” Nate giggles – fucking _giggles_ \- and steps closer to Brad. His voice drops dramatically and he leans in like he’s anything close to furtive. “What’s my mission, Sergeant?”

“Be quiet all the way to the car.”

“Pfft. Piece of cake. Oh. Cake. We should stop and get cake.” Nate smiles up at Brad, eyes bright and his face so goddamned open and expressive that it _hurts_. “I bet you’re a white cake kind of guy. White cake with that confetti frosting. You know, with the sprinkles in it. You’re a sprinkles man.” He smiles even wider. “You’re a sprinkles man, aren’t you, Brad?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. Sprinkles.” He plants one hand in the small of Nate’s back and grasps his shoulder with the other, turning him toward the car. He starts walking again, his hand at Nate’s back keeping them both moving.

“I like chocolate. I mean, normally I don’t eat frosting at all, because it’s too much, because the cake’s perfect, but sometimes I just take a forkful of chocolate frosting and slide it into my mouth and suck it off and it’s…”

The image flashes through Brad’s head and _fucking pornographic_ is the only descriptive phrase he can possibly think of that Nate could use to finish that sentence.

“Really yummy.”

“Yummy.” Brad’s voice sounds strangled to his own ears and he presses the unlock button on Nate’s key fob. “Yeah. Yummy. In the car, sir.”

Nate folds himself into the passenger seat and looks up at Brad, smiling like he just scaled a fucking mountain. Brad closes his eyes and shuts Nate’s door, exhaling a frustrated breath as he walks around to the car. He slides in and glances over. Nate’s turned his head so he’s looking at Brad, still smiling.

“Seatbelt.” Brad leans over and grabs the belt when Nate shows no inclination to do so. Before Brad can tug it across Nate’s body, Nate reaches up and trails his fingertips along Brad’s jaw. Brad swallows hard. “Sir.”

Nate’s tongue slides out of his mouth, resting against his lower lip as his eyes narrow, his concentration focused totally on Brad. Brad dated a blind girl once, and this is eerily similar, as Nate’s fingers keep moving. Jaw, cheekbones, brow, nose, the slight hollows beneath Brad’s eyes all feel the soft, curious touch of Nate’s fingers. “You’re beautiful.”

“ _Beautiful_?” He can’t quite manage the scorn he’s going for, especially when Nate’s fingers make slow circles along his lips, top and bottom, over and over.

“Look at you.” Nate exhales softly, his breath fanning over his fingers, over Brad’s face. He moves his fingers down, catching on Brad’s bottom lip and pulling it slightly, parting Brad’s lips.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah. I kind of am.” Nate smiles again, and he’s seriously throwing Brad off balance with those damn, disarming smiles. “It’s kind of nice.”

Brad licks his lips and his tongue flickers over Nate’s fingertips. “Nice?”

“Relaxing.” Nate shifts in his seat, his fingers curving down to cup Brad’s chin, his thumb sliding over his lower lip. “Aren’t you relaxed?”

“N-not really.” Brad’s having a hard time breathing, and Nate’s dangerously close. Half of Brad’s instincts are screaming to move away and the other half are urging him to close the distance between them.

“You should relax, Brad.” Nate doesn’t look away as he leans, moving his thumb away just before his lips press against Brad’s. It’s not much as kisses go, just a bare, chaste hint of pressure that gives way as Nate slumps back in his seat. He’s still smiling, though it’s softer now. “See?”

Brad pulls Nate’s seatbelt and snaps it then puts on his own. He gets the key in the ignition and twists it, revving the engine in an attempt to shift the unsettled heat in his stomach to something productive. “Let’s get you home.”

Nate closes his eyes. “Okay.”

**

“Nate.” Brad shakes him a little and then groans, shaking him again, a little harder. “C’mon, wake up.”

“Just ten m’ minutes.” Nate turns toward Brad’s voice. “Can invade then.”

“Nate.” Brad reaches across Nate’s lap and unhooks the seatbelt, easing it across Nate’s body. “C’mon, sir. Bedtime, and I’m not carrying your ass inside.”

Nate smiles and opens his eyes, the green soft and hazy with alcohol and sleep. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Brad wraps Nate’s arm around his shoulder and angles him out of the car, rising from his squatting position until they’re both standing and Nate’s leaning heavily on him. He walks a few steps and then uses his foot to close Nate’s door, heading toward the bungalow-style house. VJ’s still deployed, so Brad knows there’s no one home, no one likely to have a gun in his face if he opens the door unexpectedly. He shifts Nate, leaning him against the wall. “Don’t move.”

“Mm.” Nate takes a slow, stumbling step and leans on Brad’s arm, his hand curving around Brad’s waist.

“That’s moving.”

“You looked like you were going to fall.” Nate nuzzles Brad’s bicep and tightens his grip, tugging Brad closer. “Caught you.”

“I’m not in any danger of ending up on my ass, sir. You, on the other hand…” Brad lets it drop and manages to unlock the door. He shifts away from Nate just enough to hit the light switch, flooding the living room with golden light from the old-fashioned upright lamp. “Come on. Inside.”

“You first.” Nate gives Brad a little shove, his fingers catching in the waistband of Brad’s jeans so he’s pulled along with him. Brad stops abruptly and Nate plows into him, sliding down to the floor. He laughs, lying back so he’s sprawled out in the entranceway. “Whoops.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re not my LT,” Brad informs him as he shuts the front door. “I’m beginning to think you’re some lightweight, sorority, dipshit bubblehead in disguise.” There’s no disgust in his voice, no malice. “How much did you have to drink, sir?”

“Don’t remember. I feel good though.” Nate reaches up a hand, his fingers tangling with Brad’s. “It feels good to feel good. I bet you feel good.”

“I feel fine.”

“Not what I mean.” Nate shifts his grip, tightening it and tugging on Brad’s arm. He’s going to need the leverage to get Nate to his feet anyway, so Brad goes down onto his knees next to him. Nate releases Brad’s hand as soon as Brad’s beside him, reaching up and stroking his palm against Brad’s t-shirt. “You feel good.”

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Nate’s lips part and he lets out a soft ‘oh’. Brad snaps his teeth together and glances away. “Would you?”

Brad has to look back, look down at the open, wanting expression on Nate’s face. “Would I what?”

“Take me to bed?”

“No, sir.” Nate’s face shuts down and Brad uses the moment to pull Nate into a sitting position before getting them both to their feet again. Nate’s less of a dead weight now, the sudden distance like a chill. Brad refuses to let Nate shake him off, guiding him down the hall to Nate’s bedroom.

The room is all Nate – too many books bowing the shelves of his bookcases, a bike hanging upside down from hooks on the ceiling, utilitarian dresser and everything clean except for the papers sprawled across his desk, all covered with Nate’s handwriting. He keeps trying to pull away, but Brad turns him so they’re face to face.

“Not like this.”

“What not like this?” Nate’s defiant now, petulant and pouting.

“I won’t take you to bed like this.” Brad blows out a breath and then leans in, his mouth grazing over Nate’s. “I shouldn’t even do this.” He kisses him again, a little longer, a little firmer. “Because you’re drunk off your ass.” And again, though he keeps this one quick, not giving into the desire to linger. “And I don’t want you to regret this.”

Nate catches the back of Brad’s neck with both hands and holds him still in front of him. Brad can taste Nate’s breath, the alcohol and the anticipation, the faint hint of disbelief. Nate stares at him for a long time, his eyes searching every inch of Brad’s face while Brad focuses on Nate’s cheeks, the high blush of arousal and booze that make his freckles stand out. “Kiss me.”

“Yeah,” Brad agrees, nuzzling Nate’s mouth before capturing it, teasing his tongue over the seam of Nate’s lips until they part, until his mouth opens up for him and he can explore. Nate makes a noise and steps in closer, tilting his head to allow Brad more access. They walk the few steps back to the bed awkwardly and Brad guides Nate down, doing his level best not to break the kiss.

When he pulls back, Nate’s mouth is still open, though his eyes are closed and his lips slack. Brad bows his head and huffs his laugh against Nate’s chest. He hurts, _aches_ in all the good ways as he moves off Nate then settles on the bed. His back is against the pillows and he reaches down, tugging Nate up until his back is against Brad’s chest.

Brad kisses Nate’s temple and closes his own eyes, matching his breathing to the steady rhythm of Nate’s and waits for morning.  



End file.
